


All The Odds

by withcloudforashift



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Inspired by The Hunger Games, Other, Quarter Quell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:57:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7339912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withcloudforashift/pseuds/withcloudforashift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aster Nightpath has had her fair share of nightmares, but none of them have been as bad as this. Somehow, with all the odds in her favour, she's been reaped for the 50th hunger games, in which twice the number of tributes will be entered. That, and the fact her twin sister, Terra, was reaped along with her. Now she must find a way to keep them both alive, regardless of the consequences.</p><p>*Edit, although there is a few bits about the 50th hunger games in the hunger games books, I won't be basing this fanfic off them besides the quarter quell rules*</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Odds

There is always silence on the morning of the reaping, and it's not the peaceful kind. District 11, most days of the year, is awake in the early hours. The birds start to chirp long before the sunrise, giving the illusion that the district is not our prison, and we get to work straight away. I can't say it's enjoyable, but anything to tear my attention away from our horrific reality is welcomed. Just imagining the starving infants in the streets and the scattered bones we pass off as dead animals is enough to make anybody crazy, never mind experiencing it first hand. So yes, work is the thing that gets district 11 through the day. This day in particular though, no matter how much we try to forget it, no matter how much we bury our heads in hard work, we will always be forced to attend the reaping, to face reality. And reality is not a good place to be.

The walk to the square is made worse by the sympathetic stares from the elderly who have nobody left to lose. They know how this feels, not knowing if you'll wake up on your own worn mattress tomorrow. Or if you'll ever see it again. Every step feels like a step further from district 11. There are cameras at every possible angle around the square and I'm hit with the usual sensation that I'm being watched. It's probably true, our whole district will be watched by every Capitol citizen. I imagine them leaning towards the screen in their homes surrounded by their family, eagerly awaiting the deaths of innocent tributes. The thought makes me shiver, causing my shaking hands to spasm even more.

"It wont be either of us, Aster. It's never been us...We've entered our names five times out of thousands. It wont be us." My twin sister, Terra, grips my arm like a vice, proof that she's saying it to convince both me and herself. It's true, out of thousands, the odds really are in our favour. But it could still happen. It happens to twelve-year-olds all the time, and they only have their name in once. I can only hope that if it has to be one of us, it will be me. As much as I hate the thought of my death being broadcasted live, the thought of my sister going off to die is worse, unbearable, even. If she was reaped, I'd volunteer for her without a seconds hesitation. The only problem with that is that Terra feels the same way about me, and if she volunteered for me there'd be nothing I could do about it. I push the thought to the back of my mind for now, and focus on not throwing up instead.

Terra doesn't let go of my arm, even when they have to prick our fingers. It makes it awkward to walk, but I'm grateful for the comfort it brings. The stage set just below the steps to the justice building seems to taunt me, shoving pictures in my head of the nightmare I had the night before, with Terra standing on the stage sobbing and me beneath her, unable to volunteer. It was only a nightmare, our father said, but it feels too real. The atmosphere around the square is thick with dread and anxiety, and although the air is clear today, it seems harder to breathe. Terra and I stand in our section, waiting for everything to be set up, and try not to watch the younger children flooding in. It's never pleasant, there's always crying and screaming involved, and sometimes pleas for help, but we hang our heads and let them cry themselves out. They'll learn soon enough, that nobody will ever come to help them.

When everyone has arrived to their section, a peacekeeper raises his hands, as if to shush us. They do this every year, although nobody is speaking. They probably play gentle chatter in the background of the broadcast, showing the Capitol how ‘comfortable’ the districts are with the Games, probably. Ha, I'd love to see one reaping in district 11 where someone cracks a smile. The same peacekeeper counts down on his fingers from five, and the strangely dressed men who work the cameras start fiddling with buttons, doing some last minute adjustments. The camera men are wearing dark green leather trousers with yellow shirts and bright green waistcoats, as if they're dressed for a freak-show dinner party. I inwardly shudder, imagining what a dinner party looks like in the capitol, not that I've ever seen a dinner party take place. Maybe they also have fresh food and three meals a day. The cameras begin rolling and everything filmed appears on small screens around the square. Petal Trinket sways onto the stage, giving a winning smile to the cameras and flicking pink hair over her shoulders. She's in a pair of dangerously high heels and she teeters slightly as she makes her way towards the microphone.

"Welcome to the reaping for the 50th annual Hunger Games!" She squeals. The microphone screeches in protest, adding to the ringing in my ears. "Finally the time has come to reap the male and female tributes for a very special Quarter Quell!". I cringe at the words. She sounds excited, but I can see by the faces of the adults around me that it's nothing to be excited about. They have experienced the first Quarter Quell, and it wasn't something anybody could forget. Petal waves a gold envelope in her hand that I didn't see until now and I hold my breath to keep from making any noise. This is the part Terra and I have been dreading. It could be anything, and one of us may have to experience it. "This year," Petal continues, tearing open the envelope and looking like she just received a birthday card "Twice the number of tributes will be entered!" There it is. Everyone in the district seems to collectively hold their breaths. There's a few sniffs from the group of twelve-year-olds closest to the stage, and one woman starts screaming and is grabbed by peacekeepers. I don't know how to feel about the Quarter Quell. It completely eliminates any chance of a District 11 tribute winning this year, which means no extra supplies for our district, and the odds of one of us getting chosen are higher. But, if it is me who is reaped from the bowl, maybe I could make an ally. Maybe I could win the Games. The idea of this is so far fetched I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing, verging on hysteria . Nobody really wins the Games. "Isn't this exciting!" Petal is exclaiming, her shrill voice echoing around the silent square. A few people nod slowly, aware of the peacekeepers standing around the Justice Building. Terra squeezes my arm harder, if that’s even possible. "It's going to be ok." I whisper in her general direction, and she nods back

"Now, time to choose the female tributes to proudly represent District 11!" She wobbles her way over to the glass bowl on the right side of the stage and reaches her hand in delicately. I don't realise I'm shaking until I brush the hair from my face and my fingers knock a few times against my head. I clench them into fists. There's an awful few seconds of waiting as Petal swirls her pale hands around inside the bowl, and then she snatches a piece of paper from the centre. "Terra Nightpath!" I freeze, every part of my body tensing, and Terra seems to jerk forward, making her way to the stage. I try to make some sort of sound to indicate I want to volunteer but nothing comes out. This isn't possible, I must've misheard. Maybe Terra misheard, too. But I can tell by the curious glances thrown my way that everyone has listened to the same name called out. Terra Nightpath. Over the pounding of my ears I manage to scramble some thoughts together. But I can't do anything now, not until the other female tribute has been reaped. I’ll volunteer for her then. I’ll volunteer. She isn’t going to die.  
Petal is sifting through the other thousands of names, and this time she picks the one furthest away from where Terra's name had been. Oh God, Terra was reaped! I’m volunteering. I need to stop it. She’ll be safe. We’ll be ok.  
"Aster Nightpath!" Petal is saying, and all I can think about is how quickly I can volunteer for Terra. What if I can’t, and she has to go into the games alone and with no survival skills? What if Terra dies? I can’t let that happen. I’ll have to volunteer. Oh God.  
"Aster Nightpath?" A pat to my shoulder snaps me away from my thoughts. Was that my name? Sure enough, a peacekeeper is escorting me to the stage, his hand heavy against my shoulder. It takes another few seconds to register, and then I can't stop the tears covering my cheeks. There was no odds that this would happen. There was no chance In hell, and yet here we are, Terra and I, crying together for the whole of the Capitol to see. I needn't have worried about volunteering. We're both going to die now. 

"Twins! What a strange coincidence!" Petal splutters, trying to tear her eyes away from us. "This will be interesting!" Interesting is not the word I would have used. I put my arm around Terra's shoulders, as if I can hold her together that way, but I can see it's not working. Her eyes are clear and glassy, and she's staring at us on the screen with a blank expression. "Which of you is which?" Petal questions, pulling us towards the microphone. I can't entirely blame her for asking. Terra and I are almost identical, we share the same black curly hair, light brown skin and brown eyes, but Terra's expression usually gives her away. She smiles with all her teeth, and her eyes crinkle shut whereas my smiles are small and pathetic. Of course, we aren't smiling now.  
"I'm Aster," I croak reluctantly, "This is Terra." "Wonderful!" Petal grins, returning to the mic, "Now to choose the male tributes!" She says every word like it's a gift.  
The sea of boys below the stage simultaneously starts to shift and part as the panic sets in. The older boys grit their teeth and clench their fists, trying to look prepared for the Games, and I wish I could manage the look as well as they do. "Kasen Meadow!" Petal calls after dipping her hand in the bowl again. A boy who must be around eighteen steps out of the crowd instantly, as if he was expecting his name to be drawn, and thrusts his chin in the air. Despite his efforts to look in control, the trembling of his lower lip and the twitches in his left eye gives him away. After years of enduring reapings, you learn to recognise the fear.  
How did this happen. How did this happen.  
She reaches into the glass bowl slowly this time, savouring the moment, and selects the name closest to the bottom: "Reed Weather?" She chirps, scanning the crowd as if seeking out presents under a Christmas tree. A boy who must be around twelve, exits the crowd and makes his way shakily to the stage, tears pouring down his cheeks. He doesn't attempt to hide them, and I can hear a woman screaming towards the edge of the square who can only be his mother. I keep my head down, trying not to look at the boy. I can't help him.  
How the hell did this happen.

"Wasn't this an exciting reaping!" Petal asks, more to herself than anyone else, and then she makes her final speeches. The doors to the Justice Building open and we're thrust inside, Terra still moving as if she's in a trance. I hear the doors slam, and the noise makes me jump and sends the little boy, Reed, into hysterics. A peacekeeper grabs my shoulder and ushers Terra and I up a staircase and into the warmth of a small room, decorated with various sofas. Despite the look of it, the room feels far from cosy. The peacekeeper leaves, shutting and locking the door tightly behind him. Terra stands in the middle of the room, and after a few attempts of communicating with her I move to peer out the window. The square is emptying slowly, leaving only mourning parents and siblings behind.

The reaping is over.


End file.
